Scientology, or Soggy Biscut?

If there is two sure things I’ve learnt in life its: Don’t believe the hype and don’t fuck with God.

Like the time two Mormon girls came to my door whilst I was home from work sick one day. One was a gorgeous young blonde American girl; the other was good from afar but unfortunately far from good. Never the less, I invited them to both come back the next day when I knew I would have ample time to clean myself up and bone them both. Imagine my surprise when I found that several strapping young Polynesian boys had taken their place the following day! Luckily I had spotted them from the spare room and spent the entire 25 minutes they remained on my front step crouched silently in the spare room hoping they could not hear me soiling myself. The lesson I learned that day? Don’t fuck with God.

Nor should you pretend to be God or even make like you are in his circle of trust, like the Scientologists do. They claim to be a ‘religion’ by having ‘Church of’ in their official title. They even use the cross in some of their literature but hey, so did the Nazis. There are even expensive buildings scattered around the world with big signs that read ‘Churches of Scientology’, but you can bet there is no praying going on inside. They’re all too busy counting the money the make pretending to be religious, because in most countries, religious groups don’t have to pay tax!

Scientology is fast becoming the sort of pseudo secretive sect that makes it seem as though everyone else is on the secret, but you. It’s all starting to smell a bit too much like the bullshit the Free Masons built up around themselves with all that talk of secret codes, initiations and handshakes. Some folk will have you believe that the Free Masons are to be implicated in every major conspiracy theory going. I for one don’t believe any of it. I reckon the Masons were and are a bunch of middle aged men who get together once a week for a game of soggy biscuit. They might have a secret handshake but hey, if that’s what they get up to who wants to shake their hand anyways?

Carlos the Jackal is another prime example of why you shouldn’t believe the hype. During the seventies and early eighties when international terrorism was having its best period for ages and more planes around the world were getting hijacked than there were getting in the air, there emerged this persona of ‘Carlos the Jackal’. Carlos was back then what Bin laden is to the world today, only Carlos wore cooler suits and a retro style befitting of the worlds most wanted man. He also had an afro. Not a cool black mans afro, more a sleazy Cuban afro. During this time anything that got blown up was attributed to Carlos, much to the annoyance of the actual pricks who’d put in the time and effort to blow the thing up and then didn’t even get the props afterwards!

The filth never caught Carlos but investigative writer David Yallop did and found out that the guy was nothing more than a two bit terrorist wannabe who stuffed up his first assignment so badly he never got another by his superiors. And yet, the legend lived on and grew, just like it did with the Free Masons and like its starting to with the Scientologists. Why? Because of fear. No one wanted to actually tackle the cause of terrorism, not when it was easier to attribute it to a mad man with an afro who could not be stopped.

Scientology should have been stopped long ago. It was thought up by a guy who did hypnosis and wrote science fiction novels for a living. Before he wrote the good book of Scientology, the founder told some of his mates that he planned to start a religion that would make him a lot of money, which he has. You’d think at this early stage alarm bells would be ringing for prospective devotees, but apparently not. One of his sci-fi books was made into a movie by John Travolta who, funnily enough, is a paid up member of the Church of Scientology. I’ve been told the movie is shit but I can’t really comment as I haven’t seen it due to the fact that I suspected it would be shit.

Scientology as a business has made shit loads of cash and members of the Church get a commission if they recruit new members. Tom Cruise, the man midget with the Mohican's haircut is now officially the Church’s Number 2. Tom the Jackal. Why is it that cult religion’s are all headed by guys who either a) have the most money or b) have fiddled the most kids? In a move that is straight from the Joseph Goebbels book of Propaganda, the Scientologists are legally trying to get the likes of Google, Yahoo and other search engines to remove from their results any pages that contain negative comments on Scientology.

Hardly the work of a movement that would have you believe that it’s a religion and not a money making enterprise. Now I’m not against religion by any means - what ever gets you through the day y’know - but when they start sucking the hard earned cash out of people who are desperate to believe in a higher order of things and then try to make like thats not what they're doing, then they deserve to have there hype exposed for what it is; bullshit.

I only hope that when the Scientologists go all Waco on each other, no one misses shooting Tom.

Cops, Horses and Brazilians

Every breath you take. Every move you make. Every bond you break, every step you take I'll be watching you. That folks is Police talk and I should know; I work for them.

The Police (the band) are playing in town next week. Supporting them is Fergie. What the? Talk about chalk and cheese, which genius thought that little combo up I wonder? I could be wrong, but I can’t see ten year old girls hanging around to boogie down with middle aged men after Fergie’s finished her set. Might as well just call the night ‘Paedophilia’ if the promoter really believes that’s going to happen.

One of Fergie’s biggest songs is ‘London Bridge’, which supposedly is a sexual position involving two chicks and two fellas. I tried to picture it, several times infact and had trouble with some of the finer details, so much so that I had to Google it. Disappointingly there were no images, but I now know what a London Bridge, a Golden Gate Bridge and an Eiffel Tower is. And to think that I thought a spit roast was the best move in town…

Now here’s a question. If two girls can use a strap on dickie whilst getting busy, then why don’t you ever see two guys using strap on milkers? I’m sure someone could make a fortune selling big ol strap on teets for just such an occasion. Not the crap plastic joke shop ones mind you, but almost real boobs made of jam cause jelly don’t shake like that. Fellas who prefer to be with other fellas could then mix up their rimfest with a little titwank, not to mention the sales you would get to straight guys who would buy a pair just so they could wear them whilst sitting on the couch eating Twisties.

More disturbingly than that particular mental image however, is the news that ten year old girls are starting to ask for Brazilians. I read it somewhere the other day and although I thought it was a local story, as you always hope the kinky ones are, it turned out to be some far off country where men are allowed to marry livestock or something. Or maybe it was the States? This kind of shit always happens in the States. Either way, its just plain wrong.

I am more than happy to admit that it has been twenty years since my last exposure to a naked ten year old girl - my sister – who accidentally tripped whilst streaking from her room to the shower and ended up in a heap right outside my bedroom door. There’s nothing quite as funny as seeing some one arse it whilst in the buff, even if it is your sister. But I don’t recall there being anything to see in the minge stakes let alone anything to remove.

Nudity was always prevalent in our house on account of the fact that my mother liked to move about completely starkers at every opportunity. It was prevalent but so not welcome, let me assure you of that. To this day I still have nightmares about it. How I wasn’t converted into becoming a full time bummer is beyond me because it was not a pleasant experience. I don’t want to go into fine detail because its my mother we’re talking about, but I will say this and only this: retro minger.

Now unless they’ve started pumping copious amounts of oestrogen into the water I don’t reckon the physiology of ten year olds have changed much so why the hell is it happening? What kind of parent lets their child ask for or even have a Brazilian for fucks sake? It comes down to that old argument kids have rolled out for millions of years ‘but everybody’s doing it’, which is a bullshit, because it is never actually the case but it works thanks to the naivety of some parents to a) believe it and b) submit to it.

I’ve covered this before but I’ll do so again. It is the role and duty of any parent to protect their children from the clutches of a society that wants to sexualise them well before their time. Parents should not be frightened of making unpopular decisions in the eyes of their children. When it comes to the welfare of their children, parents should always be ready to be Mr & Mrs Killjoy because that’s the difference between letting your ten year old daughter leave the house in a skirt so short you can see her My Little Pony undies every time she bends her knee’s, or having her dress like a normal child should. Brazilians at ten years of age, needless to say, are not even on the responsible parent’s chart of the contemplation.

I really don’t envy my mates who have young daughters. Girls, more than boys, are overtly hit with carefully orchestrated campaigns of sexualisation, because it’s a in a girls genetic makeup to be receptive to them. Every girl wants to be pretty, popular, noticed and loved. Boys do too of course, but society gives them a far easier ride in achieving those things. My mates are good men and good Dads though and I’m sure they’ll do the right thing by their girls.

My Little Pony is still in right? It’s just that my undies with them on still fit, so sometimes I’m unsure if I’m keeping up with the times...

Horses are magnificent beasts though aren’t they? There’s nothing more breathtaking that seeing some huge stallion get freaky naughty with some mare in a field, especially when you’re ripping by at a 100km. That’s almost crash your car inspiring. I can’t recall ever blurting out ‘fuck me’ in surprise when watching dogs go for it, but horses? Now they’re something else.

"But, but, but yer bleeck?!"

My god, Africa appears to be a country that is content to two girl one cup all over itself doesn’t it? Admittedly, I base this assumption solely from the footage I see on the news each night, which, as I would be the first to tell you, is no way to form an opinion, but in this particular instance I don’t think I’m far from the truth.

I’m sure it has its beauty and its good bits and friends who have been there assure me it does, but most of it seems to be in utter chaos right now and has been for some time. If only there was oil in them thar hills and we could all relax as George Dubya rode on in to rescue the poor bastards from themselves. Perhaps some shit stirrer of a country could sell Kenya or Zimbabwae some nuclear weapons and start the ball rolling? You can bet if they did the Yanks would be in like white on rice.

Still, nothing like a bit of genocide to keep the worlds ever increasing population down aye? Corruption plays a big part we’re told. No doubt. Can’t be any worse than the day my good mate Sully and I ran a football World Cup sweepstake at work and fiddled it like a five year old.

Things were going great until we had dished out the winnings - of which we were both recipients - and this one bird asked us to double check the results because she felt she too deserved a cut of the winnings. Turns out she did. We had genuinely overlooked her entry when tallying the results first time round. So being the stand up guys we were, we did the only thing any organiser in our place would do and threw away her entry, claiming no knowledge of having ever received it. Needless to say it all went down like a peanut laden stool and we were never again to run a sweepstake at work. Not one that she was part of anyway.

Racism is an emotive word isn’t it? It’s right up there with ‘abortion’ and ‘religion’ on the list of great party starters. But have you ever noticed how racism doesn’t seem to be such a defined form of bigotry anymore? In general society, with the diversity of the population today, racism has almost gone mainstream. Shows like BroTown have made it okay for Coconuts to poke fun at dumb Maoris, who in turn poke fun at crazy Asians who in turn dump on cheeky Honkys. It might be funny on TV – which it isn’t because BroTown is actually quite stink – but is it still funny when 10 year olds are doing it in the playground because they saw it on the telly? Probably.

The Australian cricket team got their panties in a twist this week because one of the turbaned Indian players allegedly called their token Abo ‘a monkey’, which is hardly groundbreaking stuff when comparing racist taunts I would have thought. Actually it is borderline lame when compared to something like, oh I dunno, ‘you curry munching fuckwit’ for example.

It’s a bit rich of the Aussies too, the biggest potty mouths in world cricket to start playing the ‘our shit don’t stink’ card because they got a bit of their own back. How they understood what the guy was saying is beyond me anyway, even if he was speaking English. I have trouble making out what the guy down at my local dairy says when he’s asking for my money and that’s even after I’ve read the price tag! Those crafty Indians got their own back though after throwing a tanty and having the West Indian umpire kicked out of the next game. Probably because he was black.

What gets on my moobs though, aside from some prick at working leaving crusty tomato coloured jizz all over the shared toastie maker, is what I like to call reverse racism.

Actually I suspect it's the same bastard who left the sweaty bum crack poo stain on the toilet seat, that I couldn’t help but notice as I made my way to the men’s after deciding against toasted sammies for lunch. It’s all class at my work I tell you. But then I shouldn’t really be surprised by such things, at least not since the day I noticed the regular appearance of an unfeasibly large number of manpubes in the hand basins every morning. I swear someone is washing their chopper in the sinks. Reminds me of a place I used to work where the Indian / Pakistani / Sri Lankian guys would wash their hands before taking a whizz, but not after. Nice one fellas. Why don’t I just hold it for you whilst you pee – that way you don’t have to waste time rinsing and I don’t have to worry about door handles?

Reverse racism is when one side plays the racism card when it affects them but gets away with pulling the same shit when it doesn’t. Some Maori are great at this. Like the Iwi in Greymouth who decided to hack down the town’s war memorials at the very sociable time of 6am in the morning and dump them out the back of some farm in the wops. They had good reason mind you; they wanted to make room for a shop.

The town is understandably pissed and so should everyone, regardless of colour, who had family members serve and die in any armed conflict overseas. You can bet if I chopped down a tribal anything on my property I would have a Hikoi of large, spectacularly tattooed individuals on my doorstep quicker that you could say “you cheeky bloody pakeha”.

And yet it doesn’t work the other way? Must be because I’m black.

Retailers Are Stealing Christmas

Now that another Christmas has come and gone do you ever sit back and wonder “why the fuck do we bother?”. People seem to get more enthused about growing a pornstache or a retro minge for a month than they do about Christmas these days.

Geez even Santa gets it in the neck, what with the politically correct telling him he can’t call nobody a ho, or the skinny brigade telling him he’s overweight. I suspect the very same people also write into the TV Guide each week complaining about the actions of the characters in Shortland Street. Get a life folks, for fucks sake. These are all are fictional characters, that makes them automatically exempt from your neurosis. Why not focus your attention and efforts on your stoner kids, or your husband who spends hours online pretending he’s single?!

Personally, I blame the retailers. And the Dutch but I have no actual proof yet that they're behind it. Retailers desperate for your hard earned cash who are putting up the Christmas bling earlier and earlier in the hope that you’ll spend your lolly in their shop in November and not in the chemist getting your missus some cream for the pash rash your hoMovember efforts left her with. Some were even starting their Boxing Day sales before Boxing Day this year because they were literally gagging for your money. And people were buying into it for fucks sake!

Doesn't it seem to be sale season all the time these days? This is the retailers taking you and I up the pooper finger by finger until before you know, it they’re up to their elbows in our asses. To me, a sale should mean ‘cheaper than anywhere else’. It should mean that “it’s a deal; it’s a steal, its sale of the century. Fuck it, it’s so good we just might keep it.” What a sale shouldn’t mean is that four branded stores, all owned by the same company anyways, sell the same product – say an Xbox – at a reduced price every other week. That’s not a sale, that’s just bullshit.

Ever tried comparing mailers for the same sort of store over a three or four week period? Probably not because who would be sad enough to do that aye? But if you did, you might just be surprised to see just how often one great deal or sale is repeated by a similar store the following week. We used to do it in Hallensteins back in the day, we’d drop the price of our Levis by $10 one week and then the gay Samoan boys over at Hugh Wrights would do the same to theirs the next week. Different companies mind you, but both with the same goal; to bum the unsuspecting consumer.

Incidentally my hope that the summer sun would herald the return of the young blonde minx in hot pants that used to deliver my junk mail has not come to fruition. Which leads me to believe that either a) It was the Hanson look-alike boy all along or b) she got scared off by me appearing at the lounge window every time she made her way up and down the street. Me being naked on every occasion probably didn’t help either.

What these ever present sales do make clear to me though, is just how overpriced the shit that we buy is. Just because a store is having a sale it doesn’t mean they’re not making a profit. If Rebel Sport can sell the same Adidas top at half price in their sale and still make a profit then why do we buy it the original price? Let’s not forget that those Nazis at Adidas have marked up the garment before selling it to Rebel too.

Maybe my Christmas angst comes from my childhood. My Christmas as a kid were fucked up. All I ever wanted were G.I.Joes. My letters to Santa were the shortest in history because I only ever wanted one thing. When I sat on his knee in malls I only ever asked for one thing. I didn’t actually ever want to sit on his knee, as he always seemed to have a roll of winegums in his pocket or something, but I did it whilst my mother watched because I wanted to make it absolutely clear to her that I only wanted one thing.

Needless to say I got everything but G.I.Joes. This was how my mother worked. It was some fucked up Mum joke that we unsuspecting kids never got. She would buy me and my sister a lot of stuff and to be fair, we always got a lot of stuff, but it was never what we asked for and it pissed us off! So that inevitably put us in the unenviable position of being ungrateful – which we were – for the shit we didn’t want. Mum would then take immense pleasure in telling anyone who would listen just how ungrateful her two kids were. Reverse, rhetorical, you’re-fucked-either-way psychology at its best. That's how my Mum rolled.

So lets not forget next year that Christmas is for the kids and not the retailers. I say buy only what your kids really want and left the rest. It’s a sad fact of life that our kids grow up way to fast into a world that exploits them way too soon anyway, so lets not fuck up Christmas.

P.S. Up yours Mum. I’m still bitter about it.

Music Reviewers Are Crap

I loathe self appointed authorities on everything. Its people like them who think that they know it all that stuff it up for those of us that actually do.

Take music and movie reviewers. It must be a miserable existence having a job that has you finding fault in the things that are there for you to enjoy in the first place. I say ‘job’ but it really is a misleading term because how fucken hard is it to listen to music or watch movies all day? Even if they are shite, it would still beat the Groundhog Day drudgery of office life I reckon. You can’t open a bag of Twisties and start treating your body like an amusement park ride at your office desk that’s for sure.

Isn’t it interesting what people will say in a job interview because they think its going to get them the job? My personal fave is when they start dissing the current or previous boss and colleagues in the mistaken believe that it will somehow make them come across in the interview as the only person who did any work at their previous job. What it actually makes them look like is a moaning, back stabbing prick that will be doing the same thing to me should I be silly enough to hire them. They might as well walk into the interview with a tee shirt on that says “I’m A Cunt”.

Maybe they all end up getting jobs as music reviewers?

I happened to read a music reviewers online blog the other day. This blogger, who we shall call Simon, because his real name is actually Simon, is a fat man who blames you for making him fat. He’s the kind of guy that stopped getting invited to party’s years ago because he likes to tell the host that their choice of music was crap. He’s the type of guy that when he throws a party, very few attend because he likes to tell his guests that their choice of music is crap. He’s the kind of guy who reviews a music concert that he didn’t have to pay to see and says it was crap. The 10 000 other concert goers who actually paid for their tickets would disagree, but hey, what the fuck do they know? They’re all crap.

Simon and I actually have a wee bit of history. He was the first columnist I had ever read that got on my tits so much that I actually wrote to the newspaper to tell him just how much of a penarse I thought he was. He had written a review for a concert that I had been at that was so completely off track I actually questioned if he'd been in the same room as I, but then the review had started with something like "I hate this band" and pretty much went down hill from there anyway. Maybe its just me but I tend to think reviews should be about the event, not another chance for some fat fuck to tell you how miserable he is being at someplace he never wanted to be anyway.

Simon has that hoity toity air about him that all critics have about them because they think they’re better than you and I. They hate anything ‘popular’ because that translates in loser speak to ‘crap’. The irony of this of course is that despite gagging for the attention and adoration of the masses, the critic is caught between wanting to be talked about by everyone, but not so much that it makes him / her ‘popular’. Because then they’d be crap.

All music reviewers incidentally have the same list of favourite obscure bands, whose CDs they practically have to give away at the Warehouse because no one else buys them. Everything else musically, in the mind of the music critic, is crap. Bands that sell trillions of records and who bring delight to the trillions of people who bought them, are crap. Why? Because a fat man who can’t figure out why his stumpy pecker is a constant shade of Twistie orange and who has a black belt in being an arsehole said so.

I used to come across this kind of nothing argument almost every day when I worked in a music store. People trading off bands like they were sports teams. Who gives a shit, really? If you like a band and they rock your world then enjoy it man. Don't let some geezer who's sphincter sealed itself up years ago because all the shit was coming out of his mouth tell you otherwise.

Simon's latest blog is a list of bands he thinks are ‘over rated’ and who are therefore in his mind – wait for it – crap. Now I may be new to the blogging biz but I know enough to know that when you start making a list of anything, then you’ve clearly run out of ideas.

Simon? Merry Christmas mate. P.S Your blog is crap.

Cheer Up Emo

The world is full of arseholes, figuratively speaking, but that shouldn’t mean folk have to act like one. Take for instance the foreskin in Nebraska who took an AK47 to the shopping mall because life got a little bit tough for him. What a cocksucker.

You know that it is we the people promote this kind of bullshit. That’s right, you and I. Not because we allow video game companies to make first person shooter games, or Hollywood to glorify violence on the big and small screen. No, that stuff has always been there and always will. We do so by buying the newspapers, the magazines and the pay TV news channels that run endless post massacre articles on the waste of space that ultimately immortalise him in the eyes of other wasters who long to be adored.

These are gonads that aren't satisified being just like all the other freaks and geeks on YouTube, stapling their genitals to a piece of wood and farting near an open flame. No they want to be news worthy and fuck me if there isn’t a world waiting to appease them. Just like the popularity of the link to the story about some cooze shagging in a public place, we’re all gagging to hear about the next Emo who goes postal because his boyfriend dumped him.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dislike Emos, I think everyone should own one. But it does strike me that Emos are just Goths who think they’re too depressed to be called Goth. Back in my day, when gay meant happy, kids went Goth for the same reason kids today go Emo – they didn’t want to have their hair cut when their Mum said so, they didn’t want to bathe and they needed an excuse to listen to crap music that noone else listened to like the Cure. Emos could actually save themselves the money they spend on eyeliner by presenting themselves to the nearest heterosexual man who would be more than happy to give them two black eyes each morning. Cheer up Emo, for fucks sake.

Now I may not be the sharpest dildo in the draw but I can’t help but think there’s something retarded in not wanting to conform but yet still aligning yourself with a group of folk who all, wait for it, conform. How does that work?! If you wanna be out there, then walk round in the buff, not many folk are out there doing that right at this moment in time.

I tried playing the ‘too cool for school’ card myself once, or rather twice actually by not going to either of my two school formals. I made out like I didn’t want to go because everyone else actually was, but in truth it was down to my mother being tighter than a nuns nasty with money and not wanting to shell out for the suit hire. The bitch. But I can’t complain, we had the necessities of life like a 12 seated mahogany dinner table that cost more than the house and we weren’t actually allowed to ever sit at. There was only the four of us mind you so maybe that’s why. We made it look empty.

No there’s only one sure fire way to deal with these wannabe martyrs. Ignore them. Don’t publicise, analyse or glorify their actions. Obviously its news but lets stick to the bare facts and report something along the lines of “Loser Kid Fucks Up Mass Murder By Only Shooting Seven”. Belittle the guy even in death by taking the piss out of him because he only shot seven in a crowded mall with an automatic rifle, which is a poor effort really. Prove to all that want to be like him that even in death, society will still see you as a loser.

At the end of the day it’s up to us, you and me, to not buy this shit when it sees print. Because like it or not, we all play a part. Just like as in the death of Princess Diana, our hands inadvertently have blood on them for creating the demand that drove the paparazzi to chase her through the streets of Paris. You personally may not have bought the mag that ran the photos, but you can bet your Mum, sister or slightly effeminate mate helped the cause by buying the latest Womans Day whilst waiting in the queue at Woolies.

Incidentally, sealed sections in chick mags have become decidedly lame these days. If I’m getting my wife to buy the mag for the sealed section I want to see full on bush, milkers and hell why not, cock. If all I’m getting is animated diagrams and raunchy forums all written, one handed, by the same fat guy then I’m going to start stapling that fucker back up and returning it under the pretence of false advertising. I might even include several polaroids of myself depicting the type of imagery one expects to find in a sealed section. And don’t give me the ‘10 best positions’ rubbish again because we all know there’s only two – the one where your partner does all the work and the one where you just need to lie there.

I wonder if Emos have their own positions? I doubt it. I can only imagine depression sex begins and probably never ends in the missionary mode. Cheer up Emo, for fucks sake.

I Like To Watch

Do you think that someone should tell Terri Irwin that she doesn’t need to wear the whole khaki outfit anymore? If its functionality she wants then blue and grey camo is both functional and fashionable. Khaki I’m afraid, is neither.

It has been a few days since I last blogged, the four of you that read this (not counting myself) may have noticed. I have been busying myself with watching the great man David Beckham play football and rather more disturbingly, having dreams involving close mates and their girlfriends.

In my latest, Big Gay Ray, who is not really gay, he’s only it for the monthly subscription to Does My Bum Look Big In This? mag, was showing us all at work a photo of his missus sleeping in the nude. The photo is taken from the top of her head (she’s lying down, face up) and has Ray at the foot of the bed with his thumbs up and a look on his face that says “Yeah, here’s a photo of my missus sleeping naked, score!”

But that’s not the weird bit. I want to know who took the photo? It’s not Ray, cause he’s at the foot of the bed and his missus is asleep so either the camera was on a timer, or there was a second pervert in the room. I'd take it up with him but seeing as the whole thing is a figment of my imagination it might not go down too well.

I used to work with a guy who would regularly hand round Polaroid’s of his missus in the buff. He had that same look on his face too. Obviously its cool to have watch other guys ogle your naked girlfriend. I can’t say that I’m rushing off to set up the camera in our bedroom just yet, but who knows, if the lighting is right and the mood is set?

This girl was attractive enough but always drunk or comatose in the photos, which kind of makes it illegal for him to be taking photos methinks. And he was always going on about how she was a ‘psycho bitch’. Gee I wonder if that was because she heard he was passing around nudie pix of her?!

Why does shit keep getting smaller?

Like Tim Tam balls and mini bite size versions of all the crap food you’d normally buy whole but get sucked into buying smaller portions because you think you’re eating less. Ever notice how you end up paying more for the smaller portions though? The food companies want you to think that they’re doing their bit in fighting obesity by making every thing smaller, but it all counts for shit when you have to buy double to make up for the fact you’re still as hungry as fuck.

Speaking of small balls, my wife believes there is a direct link to my up-tightness and the size of my man fruit. Her theory is that every time my anus puckers in anger i.e. every time I blog, it shrinks my manberries on account of the two being connected. So much like Tim Tam balls, mine are now available in minuscule but the good news is you can eat more of them. Now that’s what I call portion control.

Asians are great for making shit smaller. The ones that live across the street from me aren’t into small as much as they are into secretive. You hardly ever see them but I’d swear there are about 30 people living in the one house. Why just today they managed to move one sibling out and an entire trailer load of his stuff, without even lifting the garage door any higher than the bowl they cut their hair with.

I did once catch a glimpse inside their garage and I was surprised to see the thing was full of car tyres. I was expecting bags of rice but no, piles and piles of car tyres. I suspect they’re making them in there, that’s why the curtains are always shut. Pure uncut retread manufacture, it’s middle New Zealand’s latest epidemic. I’m actually damn tempted to go over and ask if they have any that will fit the ol’ passion wagon just quietly but I don’t want to let on I’ve spied on them whilst lying on the floor, under the coffee table, in our lounge just so they couldn’t see me.

Who doesn’t like to watch aye? Why just the other day I found myself in quite the predicament. Whilst closing the curtains I noticed the next door neighbours teenage daughter and her friend alone in their room, in their pyjamas, playing Singstar. Because they were in their pyjamas I knew it wouldn’t be long before they started stripping down to their grundies, shaving each others legs, having pillow fights and probably practising their pashing. I’ve seen enough girlie product ads to know that that’s what girls do when having a sleep over. My god was I tempted to turn the light out and watch.

And then Big Gay Ray appeared in their window with his thumbs up….or was that just another one of my dreams?